


Let's Dance

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Blind Date, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2019, Dancing, Drunk Bets, Ebb lives!, Flirty Dancing fic, I can't resist a reference to the title of the next book, M/M, Music prompt, Mutual Pining, Penny Dev and Niall are unexpected wingmen, a few years post uni, awful song to dance to but I couldn't resist when I saw the title and I knew it would annoy Baz, favorite trope prompt, for Carry On Countdown Day 14, for Carry On Countdown day 12, non magical au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: Simon and Baz are old schoolmates, roommates years ago at Watford. They're both out of uni now and both undeniably single, which their friends find completely unacceptable. Penny has a solution for Simon's doldrums and Baz was inebriated enough to agree to a bet with Dev and Niall. The boys end up on a blind date for Flirty Dancing and find they are as obsessed with each other as they ever were. But there's something more there than either of them expect. Mutual pining, blind dates, Dev and Niall banter and sexy dance moves. Simon and Baz Flirty Dancing fic written for the Carry On Countdown 2019 and submitted late for the song/music and favorite trope/cliche prompts.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559566
Comments: 46
Kudos: 132
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you aren't familiar with Flirty Dancing it's a UK blind date show where both contestants are given choreography and their first date is a performance of that dance. Look at this video on youtube--it was the inspiration for this fic. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfCmCX1tdNQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my thanks to @penpanoply for the lovely art to go with this piece

**Let’s Dance**

**Niall**

“You know Baz isn’t going to do it.”

Dev raises an eyebrow at me, looking eerily like Baz as he does. It’s one of the few traits they share. It’s every bit as irritating when he does it. “He bloody well will. He took the bet. This is the consequence.” 

“I don’t think he quite expected this to be the outcome of losing. Probably thought you’d set him up on eHarmony or something like that. Not **_Flirty Dancing_ **, for Christ’s sake.” 

He scoffs. “If I was going to subject him to online dating I’d have put him on SCRUFF.” Dev leans back on the sofa, laptop balanced on his thighs. “This is better. The potential for embarrassment is so much higher on national television.” 

“I thought the point was to get him into a stable relationship. Not embarrass him in public.” 

“Well, this way we potentially get both. And you know as well as I do he won’t actually embarrass himself. Baz may be a repressed git but he knows how to dance.” 

_Uni graduation. Three best mates. A drunken bet._

None of us ever anticipated that Dev and I would be the ones who ended up engaged first. 

To each other, no less. 

Which leaves jump-starting Baz’s depressingly sparse and overwhelmingly chaste dating experience in our hands, thanks to poor choices made when completely sozzled. 

I don’t know why any of us agreed to it, least of all Baz. But, in our defense, it did seem quite unlikely at the time that Dev was ever going to settle down or that Baz and I would successfully venture into the fraught London dating scene. 

I doubt any of us would have even remembered we’d made the bet, if Dev hadn’t scribbled it all out on the back of a coaster he nicked from the pub. And if our signatures weren’t clearly scrawled below his spidery script. 

Fast forward two years. Dev and I have been dating each other for over a year and he popped the question two weeks ago. 

I said yes. 

So now we’re in charge of Baz’s love life and I can’t say he’s receptive to the idea. 

_“Fuck off. I didn’t agree to this.”_

_“You bloody well did.”_

_“I’m not taking a manky coaster as evidence.”_

_“Your signature’s on here, mate. It’s on. Niall and I are on the job.”_

_“Fuck. Off.”_

“Those are long odds.” I shake my head. “You can put in the application for him but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get chosen for the show, Dev.” 

“He’ll get chosen. Once I upload a photo of him, he’s in. Trust me.” Dev keeps clicking at the keyboard. “With a vastly superior payoff if he does make it.” Dev stops pecking at the laptop and turns to me. “You know he’ll never go on any dates we set up for him on an online site. Baz swipe right? Not bloody likely. But a challenge? He’s never backed down from one in his life.” 

He settles back on the cushions. “It’s got everything Baz loves. Music. Dancing. An element of mystery. And if it’s not a match he gets to walk away with no commitment. Doesn’t even have to talk to the bloke. It’s actually bloody perfect for him.”

Dev may have a point. 

“Is this it then? If we do this and it’s a fucking disaster, like you know it will be, are we done?”

He laughs. 

“Not bloody likely. We made a vow.” 

“We did not make a vow, you blithering idiot. We made a drunken bet.” 

Dev shrugs. “Same thing.” He leans forward to squint at the laptop screen. “Someone’s got to take charge of him. Baz is absolute shit at dating.” 

He’s not wrong. 

The keyboard clicks pause. “Fuck. What’s his Insta handle again?” 

“@ _Black-as-pitch_. Put a hyphen between the words.” 

“He’s five foot eleven?” 

“He’s six foot one and you know it.” 

“Sod off, Niall.” 

I sit next to him on the sofa, peering over his shoulder. He’s on the **_Flirty Dancing_ **website, with the extensive and apparently highly inquisitive application open on the screen. 

“Occupation. Can I say _‘being a twat?_ ’” Dev asks. 

I grab the laptop away. “Let me do it. You’re only going to fuck it up by filling it in with arsehole replies.” 

Dev rests his head on my shoulder. “I knew you’d come around.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not coming around. I’m being efficient. If you’re going to ask me the answer to every one of these sodding questions I may as well fill the damn thing out myself.”

“And I can make sure you’re being accurate.” 

“You can continue being the irritating twat you always are.” 

Dev presses a kiss to my cheek. “And that’s why you love me.” 

I lean into him. I do love the scheming bastard. 

I move to the next question: _Are you single? How long since your last serious relationship?_ Easy to answer for Baz. _Yes_ and _never had one_.

 _Describe your dream date._ “Fucking hell.” 

Dev leans over to look at what I’m typing. “Put down _fit_. Muscular. A bit thick. In every way.” He raises his eyebrow again. 

“I’m not writing that! They want dream _date_ , not dream bloke.”

Dev shrugs. “Same thing.”

I stare at the laptop for a moment before I start typing. _A simple night out. Dinner. Conversation._

“That’s boring as fuck, mate.” Dev elbows me in the ribs. 

“That’s Baz. He’d take someone to the British Museum library and think that’s a smashing idea for a date.”

“Christ, Niall. Let me do it.” Dev grabs the laptop back and we have a brief struggle before I wrestle it away from him. 

“Hands off. I’m doing this.”

I delete my previous answer. What the fuck would a dream date be for Baz? I’m not wrong about him. He loves the British Museum. 

And this show loves shooting at iconic locations. 

I start typing again. _A simple night out. A walk through the British Museum. Dinner. Conversation._ “That’s Baz, don’t even try and argue with me.” 

Dev huffs but remains silent. 

_Describe your past three most recent relationships. When were they? What made you attracted to them? Why did they end?_

That’s going to be a sparse answer. He hasn’t really ever had a meaningful relationship. A few dates here and there. Some short-term infatuations. Them being infatuated with Baz, I mean. Not him. 

He’s not been interested in anyone that way, really. 

Except for Snow. 

But we don’t talk about that. It’s an old heartache from secondary and not worth stirring up. 

Although, maybe that’s just the thing to do. Find someone who looks like Snow and let Baz finally get it out of his system, once and for all. 

I’m energized now as I start filling in the answers. 

_Describe your relationship personality._ “Being a twat,” Dev suggests. 

“Are you just going to shout out the same shit answers or are you going to actually make yourself useful?” 

“I’m giving you the accurate answers. It’s your job to find a way to make that intriguing and attractive.” Dev smirks up at me. “You volunteered for this.” 

Fuck. I did. 

I start writing answers again.

  * _I would describe myself as reserved. Introspective. Affectionate once I get comfortable with someone. \_



  * _I’m looking_ _for a partner who is caring, loyal, more outgoing than I am, someone who can brighten my days and get to know the person I am, behind the façade I use to protect my soft heart._



  * _I’d be open to dating outside my usual type because my usual type has only managed to break my heart—I tend to fall for unattainable straight men._



  * _Blue eyes, brown hair. Fit. Muscular. Preferably just a bit shorter than me. I’d like him to be able to rest his head on my shoulder when we slow dance._



  * _Top celebrity crushes: Hugh Grant, Colin Firth, Matt Damon._



  * _My perfect match? I don’t know if there is one. But someone who can accept me for who I am. A bloke who’s fit but funny. Smart but not necessarily in conventional ways._



  * _Dealbreakers—racists, fascists._



  * _Finding my ideal match will quell the loneliness of my solitary life._



  * _I’m probably still single because I’m such a hopeless romantic._ _I want to be swept off my feet, feel the thrill of a connection, light a match in my heart, see the stars through new eyes._



“That’s all complete rubbish. You make him sound a right sap, Niall.” 

“Well, he is and we both know it. And this is what will get him on the show—the lonely, hopeless romantic, nursing an old heartache but finally ready to fall in love again. Throw in the British Museum and one of his brooding photos and we’ve got Baz dancing on Channel Four in no time.”

“You’re brilliant, love. I knew I could count on you.”

**Penelope**

“Come on, Simon. It’ll be fun.” 

“I can’t dance worth shit and you know it.”

“Well, it’ll be a fair sight better than you moping on the sofa.”

It’s been months since Agatha broke up with Simon. They weren’t suited for each other, not at all, but he’s been languishing in discontent ever since. 

I don’t quite think it’s that he misses her in particular as much as he misses having someone. I mean, he has me, but I’m his best friend. And I’m not the best cuddler. 

Neither was Agatha, for that matter. 

I’ve had him sign up for some dating apps. He’s been on an assortment of dates. Simon’s figured out a few key points since we started this project, most significantly that he’s not so particular about whether it’s a man or woman that he dates—he’s attracted to both. 

He’s had dates with a few women and one or two blokes, but there’s been no spark. No connection. 

Simon needs connection. He’s been alone in this world for far too long. I know how much belonging somewhere, with someone, means to him. Getting out of the care homes and qualifying for a scholarship at Watford was life-changing for him. 

He met me. He met Agatha. 

And he met his absolute wanker of a roommate, Baz Pitch. 

But it was home, in a way that he’d never experienced before. Even with Baz being a prat. 

I have my ideas about why Baz was such an annoying git by fifth year. And why he kept at Simon, like a posh, well-read mosquito. No matter how much you swatted him away he kept coming back, buzzing around Simon, needling him but somehow basking in the attention. 

Until Simon started dating Agatha at the end of eighth year.

I keep those thoughts to myself. I think Simon was just as obsessed with Baz, but he didn’t have the clarity of mind to figure out why. 

Idiots, the both of them. 

Back to the project at hand. Getting Simon on **_Flirty Dancing_ **. He’s just the fresh-faced, apple-cheeked darling they love on this show. Handsome but self-effacing, shy but eager. He’s perfect. 

Other than the dancing but that’ll be alright. They give you choreography based on your skill level and he’ll have days to learn it all. I’ll practice with him. It’ll be fine. 

Simon perks up a bit as I run the application questions by him but he’s gone silent again by the time we finish. 

“It’ll be fine, Simon. You don’t have to have concrete answers for everything.”

He gives me a long look before he speaks again. “How can I get what I want if I don’t even know what that is, Pen?” 

I sigh. And then I shake it off and answer him. “That’s the host’s job to figure out, Simon.” I put my arm through his and rest my head on his shoulder. He leans into me. 

Simon always leans in. He’s warm as a furnace. His head rests on mine. “You won’t give me a rest until I do this, will you?” 

“I won’t. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

When I get home the next day Simon’s on the sofa, cider bottle in hand, Languishing again.

I think about how he looks now and how he looked when we were at Watford. How bright and vibrant and alive he was back then. 

Not like he was just going through the motions. 

It’s not just been since Agatha. 

I have an idea about Simon’s **_Flirty Dancing_ ** application. Some additions and alterations I’d like to make. 

I think there’s something he needs to work out. I’m going to help him do just that.

**Baz**

The email comes while I’m on the train back from visiting my family. I see the words **_Flirty Dancing_ **in the subject line and a pool of dread settles in my stomach. 

Dev.

The bastard. 

I knew he wouldn’t forget about it. He’s been crowing for weeks about our bet. 

Bets made under questionable circumstances, by obviously inebriated idiots, shouldn’t count as actual bets. 

Trust Dev, fucking barrister in training, to have receipts for the damn thing--in the shape of a shabby scrap of whatnot from the pub with our signatures scrawled across it. 

I told him that doesn’t count but when has Dev actually listened to anything I’ve said? 

I thought he’d do something mundane—sign me up for one of those online dating sites or speed dating or even something like _Grindr_ , arsehole that he is. 

Which would be preferable, now that I think about it. I’d never have to log on or I could simply not show for the speed date fiasco. The terms of the bet would be fulfilled and I could go on with my humdrum life. 

But this. He’s signed me up for a fucking television dating show?

I’m not going to do it, obviously. But this is a bit over the top, even for him. This takes _effort._

Which means he had Niall do it for him.

Fuck it all. 

**Dev**

Baz is pacing, which is never a good sign. He usually has far more control of his emotions. Ruthlessly represses them, if we’re going for accuracy. 

“Settle down, mate. There’s no need to wear a path in the rug. It’s just an email. You made it to the interview round. Solid work. Get past that and you’re Channel Four bound!” 

I get a glare in return. “I’m not the one they should be interviewing, you absolute pillock.” Baz ceases his pacing to fold his arms over his chest and give me a full-on scowl before resuming his tirade. “I’m not the one who filled out the application. That was you, or Niall more likely, seeing as I made it past the first round.” 

Niall leans his head back on the sofa and closes his eyes. He sing-songs a quiet “I told you so,” at me. 

Baz whirls on him, to my relief. “Told him what?” he hisses. 

Niall realizes his error too late but he mans up and meets Baz’s frown with one of his own. “I told Dev you’d bail.” He gives me an almost imperceptible side-eye as he speaks. 

Ah. Yes. We’re starting with this tactic. Not quite shaming but definitely veering to goading level. Good. This method has an excellent track record when dealing with Baz. 

I put my hands behind my head and raise one eyebrow at Baz. It drives him mental when I do that. Seems to think he has a monopoly on it. 

It gets an appropriately irate response. “And what are you looking at, Dev?” 

I shrug. “Thought you were made of sterner stuff, my man.” 

Baz’s shoulders straighten. “Meaning what exactly?” Every syllable is crisp, every consonant resonating. 

Good. 

I shrug again. He hates that too. Residual from years of rooming with Snow at school. “Meaning I didn’t think you’d be off your game at the thought of an interview.” I shake my head at him. “That’s not like you. Not like you at all.”

Niall leans forward, elbows resting casually on his knees. “You’re not nervous about it, are you, Baz?”

_Well played, my love, well played._

Baz huffs, eyebrows drawing together fiercely. “I most certainly am not. What earthly reason would I have to be nervous about a daft television show interview?”

Niall shakes his head. “No reason, you just seemed a bit . . . well . . . rattled.” 

_Match point._

I swivel my head to look at Baz again. He draws himself up to his full height, chin up, eyebrow raised practically to his hairline. “I can assure you I’m not. It’s simply a waste of my time to even bother with this.” 

Time to make the big play. All or nothing. “Think they’re not going to pick you, do you? Better to pass on the interview than face the rejection. I can see how you’d feel that way.” I blink at him innocently. 

If Baz could shoot fire from his eyes I’d be incinerated already.

“I never said anything about passing on the interview.”

 _Game, set and match._ The rest will be a piece of cake. 

Our boy is headed to the next round. 

**Simon**

I don’t know how I let Penny convince me to do this. I’m shit at dancing and I’m even more shit at interviews. It’s bad enough I’m going to have to meet with a panel of people but they’re going to _tape_ the sodding thing as well. 

I’m doomed. 

Literally doomed. 

I’m fine with the thoughts in my head, most of the time. It’s getting the words out that trips me up. They get tangled somewhere between my brain and my mouth and by the time I’m actually speaking it’s just an awful muddle of false starts, mumbles and random nonsense. 

I take a last look in the mirror. My hair won’t stay flat. I gave up on it before I even bothered getting dressed. It’s just a jumble of curls and I can’t put any more effort in, not if I want to get there on time. 

I have to get there on time. 

I make sure my shirt’s tucked in, grab my keys and run out of the flat. 

Penny’s certain this will be fun. I think she and I have very different definitions of fun. 

I also haven’t seen her signing on to humiliate herself on national television so I think she’s taking the piss, honestly. 

Not in that she’s trying to embarrass me—I know she’s not. She’s my best friend and I’m sure she thinks this is a good distraction from me getting in my head. 

She’s not wrong. I’ve hardly been able to think of much else since she started this whole project, so I suppose that’s progress. 

It’s not so much that Agatha broke up with me. I’d been expecting that. 

To be honest, I’d been expecting it for a long while. I think we both knew this relationship wasn’t going anywhere, but it was just far easier to keep going through the motions. 

It was safe. Familiar. Even if the spark had faded long ago. 

If there ever even was much of a spark to begin with. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Agatha’s beautiful. She’s literally gorgeous and nice and mostly pleasant. 

We’d been friends for so long and then things just shifted a bit and it seemed simple enough to go with it. Go from being friends to being something more. 

Maybe we should have dated earlier. Might have gotten it out of our systems at Watford and not let it drag on so long. 

It’s not that I’m lonely. I’ve got Penny. I’ve got friends at work. I go ‘round to the pub with Gareth and Rhys on weekends. 

It’s just that I’ve figured out a few things since Agatha broke up with me. Maybe figured out isn’t the right word. 

I’m fairly certain it was lurking in the back of my mind when I was at Watford. The last year for sure. I just didn’t want to think about it. Easier not to let myself get muddled. 

But I think now that I wasted my time avoiding the issue. Left me with some regrets, it has. 

And some realizations. 

That’s why I had Penny check that box on the application. Time I got things sorted. Maybe with someone else doing the actual setting up I’ll have a better chance of getting it right. 

Dating after uni is a right pain in the arse. It’s not as easy to meet people. The dating apps Penny signed me up for are all bollocks. You can’t tell much of anything from the photos and profiles. Everyone’s just putting up a front. 

It’s anxiety and build-up, awkward conversations and interminable first dates. It’s bloody miserable, is what it is. 

I can’t make small talk on demand. 

I tug at the collar of my shirt as I wait at the station. It feels too tight, even though I’ve left the top button open. 

I hate this shirt. Penny said I had to look presentable, so here I am—in navy trousers and a pale blue button-front shirt. She dug it out of the back of my closet last night—it’s from a job interview a while back so it’s a bit snug. 

I’ve filled out a bit since then. 

And it’s not because I’m on the sofa with my cider and crisps. It’s harder to stay as active with a job and _responsibilities._

I check the time as I walk through the sliding glass doors of the sleek building that houses the **_Flirty Dancing_ **offices. I’m a few minutes early. 

Right, then. 

This is it. 

I check in at the desk and then follow a girl with hair like a dandelion puff to a brightly lit conference room. Her earrings chime as she walks. 

I thought this was supposed to be a team interview but there’s only one person waiting for me. 

It’s a tall, blonde woman, with a bob and sharply cut bangs. 

“Hullo, Simon. Nice to meet you. I’m Ebb Petty, the host of **_Flirty Dancing_ **.” She gives me a bright smile, wide enough it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners, and takes my hand in both of hers. “Let’s have a bit of a chat then, shall we, just the two of us?” She squeezes my hand and her smile gets wider. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

**Penelope**

The song they chose for Simon is a catchy little tune with a simple beat. It’s some American band I’ve never heard of, but Simon seems to like it so I’m not going to fuss about it. 

The choreography is proving a bit challenging but we’ve got a few days yet before filming the date night. Thank heavens Simon isn’t leading—seems they’ve tapped the mystery date for that. 

“Start it from the beginning again, Si. Let’s run through it one more time.” 

He groans and slumps onto the sofa. “Penny, do we have to?” 

I give him a stern look over the top of my glasses. “Simon, it’s in three days. We need all the practice time we can get.” 

He sinks deeper into the cushions and yanks at his curls. “Because I’m bollocks at it.” 

I sit next to him and knock my shoulder into his. “You are not. You’ve got most of the moves down, now it’s just a matter of synching the choreography to the music.” I tug at his arm. “Up you go, one more run through and then we’ll take a break for a snack.” 

His eyes light up at the mention of food. Of course they do. I may have to stock up on some more Hobnobs and mint Aeros if I’m going to have to bribe him to rehearse every night. 

Simon shuffles to his feet, hits the play button on his mobile and we take it from the top. 

I wonder if he’s figured out he’s bound to have a male partner for this, based on the choreo. I won't mention it. 

But it’s all working out to plan so far. 

Good. 

**Baz**

This insipid music is driving me mental. 

So is Dev. 

“Would you watch your feet, you oaf?” 

“Listen, mate, I’m doing you a favor.” Dev’s left foot knocks into mine as he speaks and I stumble. Again. 

“This is a bloody disaster and you know it.” 

Niall sighs from across the room. “You missed the spin, Baz.” 

“It’s his bloody fault. I can’t spin him when he’s treading on my feet.” 

“Sod off, I’m doing my best, you uptight prat.” 

“I will remind you again that this unmitigated disaster was _your idea_.” 

The music comes to an abrupt halt, thank heavens. “Take a break,” Niall barks. “The both of you.” 

I drop Dev’s hands and step back. 

He sinks down on the sofa next to Niall and tips his head back. “Well, fuck me.” 

“Not right now,” Niall replies absently, not even looking up from his mobile. 

I can’t believe these bastards talked me into this nightmare. 

The date is in three days. 

Three fucking days. 

“Bloody hell, Baz. I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Dev complains. “Didn’t you do some poncey Little Lord Fauntleroy dance classes when you were a sprout?” 

I shoot a glare in his direction. “I am good at this, you unmitigated clod. You’re the problem.” 

Dev starts to sputter but Niall puts his hand up to stop him. “Enough. We’re not going to make any progress if the two of you keep wrangling.” He scrubs at his face, then hands his mobile to Dev. “I’ve been staring at that damn instructional video for the last two days, I think I can manage it.” He gets off the sofa and walks over to me. “From the top, then?” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Listen, I’m no more thrilled than you, but we’ve got two more days to get it right. So cut the chatter and fucking focus, will you?” He turns away from me, takes the starting position, and nods at Dev. “Start the music.” 

I snarl but reach my hand to his as the first notes of this blasted song ring out. 

He’s marginally better than Dev. At least he’s not tripping me up but he’s still too damn tall for the spins. 

We limp our way through it and then he makes us do it again. And again. 

By the time the two of them fuck off to their flat we’ve run through it flawlessly twice. 

It’s progress. 

What’s fucking nightmarish is the fact that I’m humming the damn song in the shower the next morning. 

I’m apprehensive enough about this entire endeavor. The fact that I’m cursed to dance to some nuisance of an unknown American band isn’t helping my nerves any. 

There’s no way I’m a match for this mystery bloke. 

Not if the numpty likes country music. 

Even the name of the song infuriates me. They brazenly lifted lyrics from _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , without any shred of shame. It’s a travesty. 

I can only hope that my reward for putting up with this utter disaster of a set up is that Dev and Niall finally put their matchmaking plotting to rest and leave me be.

That would be a blessed relief.

  
  


**Simon**

“Simon, come on,” Penny shouts from the front room of our flat. “You can’t be late.” 

I take another look in the mirror. 

My hair is a jumble of curls and it’s the best I can do. The show has a team to do makeup and hair onsite. It’s their problem now, I suppose.

I’ve got jeans and short sleeve t-shirt on. Fitted. Dark blue. Penny said it would look better against the light backgrounds at the British Museum. 

I still can’t believe we’re filming this at the British Museum. At night.

I’ve watched a few episodes of the show. They mostly film outside. During the day. I suppose I was expecting Regent’s Park or Kensington Gardens, but maybe they’ve done those locations already. 

I wonder if my mystery date is the studious type. Oxbridge educated. 

I know it’s a bloke. 

I’ve not got the lead in our dance, so it was clear from when I got the choreo that it wasn’t going to be a girl. 

I’m nervous about this whole endeavour but I’m almost relieved about this bit. The bloke bit. 

It’s time I dealt with it head-on. This attraction. 

I try to calm myself as we make our way to the filming site. I sit next to Penny as we rattle through the Tube tunnels, running through the choreography step by step in my head, earbuds in so I can hear the music.  
  
I close my eyes and try to imagine the steps with a partner other than Penny. Someone taller. 

Someone decidedly male. 

There’s a hazy image forming in my head as I click repeat for the song. 

_Grey eyes._

_Black hair._

_Taller than me, all his height in those long footballer legs._

_One eyebrow arched._

My eyes open and I rip my headphones out. 

Bloody hell.

That’s all I need right now. Images of Baz bloody Pitch in my head. 

Not that I don’t have unwanted images of him in my brain far more frequently than I’d like, but now is most definitely not the time for this. 

Not when I’m about to go on a date. With another bloke. 

_And dance._

Fuck it all. 

“What’s the matter with you, Simon?” Penny gives me a disapproving look over the top of her glasses. “You’re supposed to be calming down, not winding yourself up.” She leans into me. “Deep breaths now, in and out.” She pats my hand. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

Easy for her to say. She’s not fantasizing about her former roommate, infuriatingly fit prat that he was.

I try to match my breathing to hers--in and out. I don’t dare close my eyes though. 

It’s Baz that started all of this, really. 

Not that he knows that. Not that I’d ever tell him. As if I’d go back to a Watford reunion and stride right up to Baz and tell him the stark truth that’s been turning itself over and over in my mind for awhile now. 

_“The truth is, Baz, I’m desperately attracted to you.”_

And then I imagine him leaning forward and nuzzling my cheek just before he kisses me. 

Which is a right load of rubbish. He’d punch me, is what he’d do. Wouldn’t be the first time we’d come to blows.

I can’t think about this right now. 

I scroll through my playlist to find some other song, something to reset my brain away from Baz.   
  


**Baz**

I will admit I’m pleasantly surprised they chose the British Museum for the film shoot. It’s the only thing about this farce that holds any appeal for me. The only part of this endeavour that is in any way a bit of _me_. 

I’m early, of course, flanked by Dev and Niall who insisted on coming. 

“We’ve got a stake in the outcome of this, mate,” Dev had said, when he’d appeared on my doorstep hours ago.

“But I don’t want you there.” I did, actually, seeing as I’m nervous as fuck about this, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“It’s our job to make sure you don’t find a way to fuck it up,” Niall had added. He’d narrowed his eyes at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Fuck off. It’s a nice suit.”

“It’s a bit shit for this. Have you even watched the show? Why aren’t you in jeans?” He’d pushed past me to stomp down the hallway to my bedroom, muttering the entire time. “You look like you’re going to a bloody job interview. How do you plan to dance in a suit?” 

“Get out of my room, Niall.”

“And your hair is fucked,” Dev had said, shouldering his way in the door. “You can’t slick it back like that, it makes you look like a damn vampire. You’re going on a date, for Christ’s sake.” He’d taken off after Niall.

“Hold on now, I’m the only one with any bit of fashion sense. You can’t just march in here and piss on my wardrobe choices.”

“Can if they’re shit, which they are.” Niall was rifling through my dresser, while Dev flicked through the selections in my wardrobe. 

What the actual fuck?

They agreed on a decent shirt at least--aubergine print with navy leaves. I’m in jeans now, despite my reservations about dancing in something this snug. Dev had waved a hand at my protests. “Your arse is going to be on national television, my man. You may as well show it off.” And then the bastard had grinned and bloody well slapped it. 

Niall’s decided the makeup team can deal with my hair. 

It’s falling in loose waves around my face now and I know it’s going to be a bloody nightmare once I start dancing but there’s no arguing with this woman about anything. She looms over me as I sit in the makeup chair. “This is my job, pretty boy. Once you’re in that seat, you do what I say.”

So I do.

The door to the makeup trailer opens and a voice calls in. “Five minutes, Keris. You’ve got him ready?”

“Ready as he’ll ever be.” She lifts my chin and turns my face left and right, eyeing me critically. “You’ll do. You’ve got stellar facial bone structure.” She grins down at me and raises an eyebrow. “But you should smile more.”

Bloody hell.

  
  


**Simon**

I’m standing at the bottom of the steps, facing the front of the British Museum.There are spotlights on me. I’m already starting to sweat, from nerves mainly I think. Christ, I’ll probably be a complete sweltering puddle by the time the dancing is over. 

Why did I let Penny convince me to do this? I’m enough of a fuck up in the privacy of my own flat but now my status as a complete berk is going to be broadcast on televisions across the country. 

I wonder if people will recognize me on the street. At the cafe. On all the sodding dating apps Penny’s put me on. 

_“Look it’s the poor sod that tanked on_ **_Flirty Dancing_ ** _.”_

_“Oh my god, don’t click on his profile. He’s an utter disaster.”_

_“His date didn’t even look at him after their dance.”_

_“Complete train-wreck.”_

I’m clenching and unclenching my fists when a voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Alright there, Simon?”

It’s Ebb. The host of the show. 

She comes into view, wearing faded jeans and a comfortable looking jumper with too-long sleeves. She touches my shoulder. “Simon?”

“I’m nervous as hell.” 

“That’s alright. I’m sure there’s someone else here who feels quite the same.” Ebb’s got a nice smile. It’s warm and kind and it’s making me feel just a bit better. 

She leans in a bit and lowers her voice. “Trust me. I think this will be more fun than you expect.” 

I shrug, not having the right words to convey the full extent of my agitation at the moment. 

She grips my shoulder a little more tightly. “Trust me,” she says again, blue eyes focused on mine. “You’ve got this.” She steps back and grins, looking far too amused for my comfort. “I think you’re going to like what you see.” 

She winks and then she’s gone, just as a voice rings out in the courtyard. “Two minutes!”

Two minutes. I close my eyes and run through my opening steps. I know the music. I know the choreography. 

I just don’t know who I’m going to be dancing with. 

It’s alright. It’s less than five minutes of my life. I’ve been through worse. I can soldier through this. It’ll be a right laugh a few months from now, I’m sure. 

I roll my shoulders and straighten my back, arms at my sides. Starting position. 

I can do this. 

  
  


**Baz**

It’s the host of the show, Ebb, who walks me to my starting position. My hands are clammy so I scrub them on my jeans as she leads me out of the trailer. My sleeves are rolled up so I feel the cool breeze as we reach the courtyard. It’s lit up, spotlights on the facade, the pediment, the stairs leading up to the main entrance. 

And on a solitary form standing at the bottom of the steps, facing away from me. 

My breath catches. 

For an instant, just for an instant, I thought it might be Snow. The set of his shoulders, the width of his stance. It all looked so familiar. 

But this bloke is more filled out, broader in the shoulders, stockier. Hair that’s a thick mop of curls, not Snow’s sharp undercut. 

They did figure out my type though, I will give them that. 

A voice rings out from my left. “One minute.”

I close my eyes and take a breath.  
  
Showtime. 

  
  


**Simon**

I hear footsteps behind me. This is how it starts. His arm crosses over my chest as the first notes ring out and the scent is so familiar it throws me off. 

I’m instantly back at Watford, watching the sun slant through the open window, Baz’s hair shining in the light, the changeable grey of his eyes meeting mine. 

I can’t let myself get distracted. Why the fuck am I thinking about Baz so much today?  
  
I don’t really want to get into that right now. 

I close my eyes, steady my breaths, counting the beats in my head as I turn to meet my unknown partner. 

We come face to face. For an instant I think I'm hallucinating, that I’ve conjured him up from my imagination, but the gobsmacked expression that flashes across his face before he schools it must be a match to my own. 

It’s Baz.

_Baz._

  
  


**Baz**

I take in the unruly mop of hair, longer but no less tousled than I remember. The constellation of freckles dotting his skin. The ordinary blue of his eyes. 

The features that are seared in my memory. 

The boy I fell in love with fifth year and have never quite managed to forget. 

The glorious sight of Simon Snow takes my breath away but I have no time for this. The music keeps playing, the beat of it relentless in my head. _Pull it together, Pitch._

He’s gaping at me and it’s so achingly familiar I almost succumb. I can’t. I’m here to prove something.  
  
I will literally flay Dev if he planned this with Snow, but I can’t let myself think of that right now. I need to focus. 

As does Snow. 

We’re damn lucky the choreography gives us so many beats standing palm to palm as we face each other--they must build that into every program to accommodate the contestants’ initial surprise at first sight. 

More like shock in our case. 

“Get it together, Snow,” I hiss through my gritted teeth. I hope to fuck the cameras are still on a long shot. 

Snow blinks and swallows and it’s a whole scene when he does. It’s been so long that I can’t help following the line of his jaw, the muscles in his neck as he does. 

His hands are warm against mine. 

The instrumental portion of the song segues into the vocals and that’s our cue. We back away from each other slowly, then climb the steps of the Museum in tandem. I can’t keep my eyes off him and he’s looking right back at me. 

We move to the beat, space between us now, but every motion a match. 

Snow’s biting his lip and there’s a flush creeping up his cheeks.  
  
He’s so fucking beautiful. 

Our eyes lock again and he breaks into a grin just before he dashes off to the front entrance of the Museum. 

We go in through separate doors and find each other in the vast, brightly lit great court, coming together to mirror each other, palms touching, fingers brushing as we dance in tandem. Snow follows my lead seamlessly. 

One step forward, one step back. My hand on his waist, his lingering on my shoulder, free hands clasped. It’s electric. I can feel the buzz all the way up my arm. 

He still smells like soap.

I can’t take my eyes off him. 

There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead but he’s _smiling at me_ and that’s the one thing that throws me off, the one thing that’s new and unexpected. 

Snow has never smiled at me like this. 

His feet falter a bit when I spin him but I hold him steady, pull him close, my arm wrapped around him as we turn together now, his hand firm on my shoulder. 

Fuck. I’ve had _fantasies_ about this.

I take his hand and we run through the rooms full of antiquities, pausing for me to spin him once more before we reach our destination--the Parthenon Gallery. 

The spin is flawless this time. I can’t help the thrill of exhilaration that runs through me at that perfectly executed maneuver. It’s nothing like dancing with Niall. None of the stumbling awkwardness of Dev. 

And just like that I’m grinning at Snow. I must look like a fool. 

I slide my other hand down his arm, trailing my fingertips along his bare skin. It’s warm and he’s sweating already, but it’s alluring rather than off-putting. 

I let my touch linger on the back of his hand before I reluctantly step back. 

We take our positions on either side of a bench in the middle of the gallery and I move into my solo while Snow watches, nodding his head in time with the beat. 

Having his eyes on me so intently, so appreciatively, encourages me to let loose just a little bit.

  
  


**Simon**

I’ve never seen Baz dance before. He floats across the polished marble floor, each move graceful, sinuous, sensual. 

It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. 

It’s so distracting I almost miss my cue to start my solo. Baz widens his eyes at me as I hear the chorus start. 

Fuck. 

_And six, seven, eight._ I shift my hips and roll my shoulders, arms over my head, singing along under my breath. _“I’d go anywhere, as long as you’re there, any way the wind blows.”_

I spin and turn to face him, my hand stretched out. By some stroke of magic I actually got through the damn thing without messing it up. 

Baz takes my hand and pulls me close, our chests barely touching as he slides his arm around me, hand pressing into the small of my back. My shirt’s stuck to my skin from the sweat but when I rest my hand on his chest his is too, so it’s ok, I think. 

I don’t mind one bit.

**Baz**

I press my hand to the small of Snow’s back and he leans into it, the weight of him settling on my palm. It’s like something clicks into place. Like we fit. _Like we match._

I step forward and he steps back at precisely the right time. I tug him just a little closer, hold him a bit more tightly, and I feel him squeeze my hand in turn. 

His lips move as he mouths the lyrics to this travesty of a song. 

I don’t hate it so much anymore. 

He spins away and I reel him in again, my chest against his back this time, our sweat mingling where we press against each other. 

It’s erotic as hell.   
  


**Simon**

The familiar scent of cedar and bergamot overwhelms my senses when he’s so near. 

I close my eyes and breathe in. 

The words fit the moment. _“Hold on baby, hold on tight._ ”

I’m holding on too tight. I stumble a bit as Baz brings us face to face again for our final few measures. 

“Keep it together, Snow.” It’s barely audible but it brings me back to the beat. When I look up he’s smiling down at me. 

_And seven and eight._

Baz’s grip is firm and secure around my waist when he dips me as the song fades out. 

**Baz**

I stay frozen in position, my hands holding Snow balanced in my embrace, our eyes meeting as the final chords of the song fade out. 

I’m not ready for this to be over. 

  
  


**Simon**

I don’t know what I’m going to do when this is over. I know we’re supposed to go in different directions, to talk to the cameras about our dance, but I don’t want to. 

Baz shifts us back to standing and we both start laughing as he does, hands clasped together.

It’s relief, exhilaration, a mix of both, and something more, I think. 

Something deeper.

I’m breathing hard, my shirt clinging to my skin. 

I want to hear Baz laugh again.

His fingers are still laced through mine. 

I want to stay with him. I want to know everything he’s done since I last saw him at the Leavers Ball. 

The night I stumbled through a few dances with Agatha in my arms and watched Baz glare at us from across the Great Hall. 

Stared at the ceiling in silence that last night in our room, listening to the way he breathed one final time. 

Fuck it all. I can’t believe it’s taken me this many years to figure out. And a stint embarrassing myself on public television to make it clear.

I fancy Baz.

I’ve fancied him for years. 

I can’t stop looking at him. There’s a devastatingly gorgeous smile on his face, a light in his eyes. 

He leans close, words barely audible. “It’s good to see you, Simon.” He squeezes my hand and then drops it to walk away. 

“Baz.”

He pauses, turns around just enough that he can see me, that infuriating, mesmerizing eyebrow of his arched up in question. There are a million things I want to say, a thousand phrases clogging up my throat, but all I can manage is “It’s good to see you too.”

His smile widens and I feel a rush of warmth in my chest as I watch him walk away from me. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans before. He looks damn good in them. 

  
**Baz**

My heart is pounding in my chest and it took all my strength to keep my voice from quavering just now. I can’t believe I’m walking away from Simon. 

I don’t want to, Christ, I don’t want to, but it’s the show’s required format. 

I’d far rather grab him by the belt loops and snog him senseless as the pantheon of Greek gods looks on. 

The cameras are waiting for me and I give them some sound bites about a _‘definite connection’_ and being _‘open to the possibility of this being the start of something.’_ I can’t let on that I know him so I keep it vague on the whole. Vague but definitely interested. 

I wonder what Simon’s saying. 

  
**Simon**

I’m wiping the sweat off my forehead when the cameras come at me. I don’t even know what I’m saying really, I think I’m just babbling nonsense. I need to make sure I don’t say his name again. The whole premise of this show is strangers meeting and finding a connection, not old school mates, who apparently only _pretended_ to hate each other, being given a second chance. 

But that’s what this is, isn’t it? A second chance. A do-over. An opportunity to not bollocks it up this time. 

I miss the last question so the camera person has to repeat it. Oh. Well. That one’s easy. 

“Oh, yeah, there’s definitely a connection there. I’d be open to a date, if he is.” And then I don’t know what makes me do it-- the rush of exhilaration at seeing Baz again after all this time, the lingering scent of him still clinging to my skin, the memory of his eyes meeting mine, the spark of _something_ in their depths. 

I look straight into the camera. “Especially if he’s wearing those jeans again.” And then I _wink_. 

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is "Any Way the Wind Blows" by Home Free. It's as annoying to me as it is to Baz. But there was no way I could resist once I saw the title of the song and once I realized just how much it would irritate Baz and entertain Simon. 
> 
> My deepest thanks to @penpanoply and mr. penpanoply for their assistance with the dance moves and dance pacing and the video demo. All my thanks to @penpanoply and @drvivc for their beta reading and laugh emojis sprinkled in their comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drvivc wanted more, so here's more my dear!

**Chapter Two**

**Penelope**

I’m waiting for Simon in a trailer in the back car park of the British Museum. The staff wouldn’t let me go with him and when I tried to sneak past the security detail they marched me here and left me under the watchful eye of this puff-haired assistant. Trixie, I think her name is. 

She hasn’t stopped talking since they saddled me with her. And everytime she finishes a sentence she tilts her head and her earrings chime and it’s driving me absolutely mental.

There isn’t even a video feed of the dancing that I can watch. 

I’m sure Simon is fine but I’d feel better about the whole thing if I could see for myself. 

Another assistant comes for me twenty minutes later, although I swear it feels like I’ve been in there for so much longer. It’s the inane conversation that’s made it feel interminable. 

I follow this Nico person across the car park to the far side of the building. There are a few other people standing there, two of them lounging against the gates.

  
  


**Niall**

They’ve kept us away from the main filming area, the beefy security guards giving us the stink-eye whenever we ventured even a few steps away from this gate. Dev’s sweet-talking didn’t make a bit of difference. 

I suppose they’ll bring Baz around the back here and we can finally fuck off back home. 

I lean into Dev. There’s a bit of a chill in the air now. 

I see someone walking across the car park but it doesn't look like Baz. Too short to be him. Not enough swagger. 

  
  


**Dev**

What the fuck is Penelope Bunce doing here?

A cold shiver of dread runs through me. I hope to hell they didn’t pair Baz up with _her_. Christ, I’d never hear the fucking end of it. 

  
  


**Penelope**

The two figures detach themselves from the gate and as I draw near I realize I know them. 

It’s Dev and Niall. 

From Watford. 

What the blazes are they doing here? Oh bloody hell. I hope one of _them_ wasn’t Simon’s mystery date. What a fucking disaster that would be. 

I’d never hear the end of it from Simon. 

  
  


**Niall**

“Bunce.”

“Niall.” 

We stare at each other across the small space between us. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dev says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

She lifts her chin. “I’m here with Simon, of course.”

I blink at her. “Snow?”

I’m greeted with a painfully familiar Bunce eyeroll. “Well, who else?” She glares at me, eyes shifting back and forth between me and Dev. “Don’t tell me he got stuck with one of you.”

“What are you even talking about?” Dev says, but his voice sounds faint against the rushing in my ears. 

I grab his forearm. “Oh bloody hell.”

He turns all of his attention to me. “You alright, Niall?”

I’m staring at Bunce. “He’s here for the show? Snow’s a contestant on the show?” Dev’s strangled _“fuck”_ is clear and distinct. 

She huffs. “Well, of course he is. Why else would he be here?” Her eyes narrow, the faint light glinting off her glasses. “My question is why are you two here?” Her eyes dart between us again and I see the instant she pieces it together. “Oh, fuck. You’re here with him. _With Baz_? Are you bloody kidding me?”

I shake my head. “He was filming tonight.” I’m going to leave bruises on Dev’s arm but I can’t even think about it right now. 

Baz is going to be _livid._ It took him years to get over pining for Snow (if he ever really did) (I have my doubts).

I filled out the form so he could exorcise Snow from his bloody mind, not have him be resurrected to torture Baz again. What a fucking nightmare. 

“I didn’t even know Snow was gay,” Dev mutters. He’s not focusing on the truly important point: Baz is literally going to flay us for this. 

“You shouldn’t be going around making assumptions about people’s sexuality,” Bunce says. 

“He’s on a fucking dating show, dancing with another bloke. I’d not call that an assumption,” Dev answers and we’re all back to glaring at each other. 

I see movement across the car park and tug on Dev’s sleeve. Baz is crossing the space to us, flanked by two staff members. Snow is making his way from the opposite side of the building, in similar company. 

Bunce runs to Snow and he stops to pull her into a hug, laughing as he does. 

Baz keeps moving towards us. I can see his smirk from here. 

Oh, thank fuck. He’s not angry. 

Or maybe there are cameras on him still. 

Fuck. I don’t know what he’s thinking. 

Baz reaches us shortly before Snow and Bunce do. There’s a tall blonde woman walking next to Snow and I recognize her as the host of **_Flirty Dancing._ **Ebb something or other. 

Baz raises an eyebrow. “Gentlemen.”

“Alright, Baz?” My voice is raspy. 

He nods and then his gaze shifts to Snow and it's unbelievably _fond_. 

  
  


**Simon**

Ebb’s saying something as she shakes my hand but I’m not really listening, not with Baz standing behind her, his dark hair falling in soft waves around his face, eyes on me, looking the way he does in those jeans. 

I nod and smile and then she’s turning to Baz and saying something to him. I catch more of what she’s saying this time, as she’s blocking my view of him and I can focus a bit better. Something about how her staff will email us regarding plans for a real date and how we’ve both signed non-disclosure agreements and are on strict orders not to speak to each other except through **_Flirty Dancing_ **mediated channels and whatnot. 

Which is bollocks, if you ask me. 

What’s the point of figuring out if you have chemistry with someone and then having it all chaperoned and monitored by some bored interns?

There is no point. I know I’ve signed an NDA and that I’m expected to keep my contact with Baz to a minimum until the show airs. 

Not bloody likely. 

I’ve just found him again, after all these years, and I’ve finally figured out why thoughts of him have always been a right bloody tangle of emotions. 

I’ll be damned if I waste another minute. 

Ebb shakes Baz’s hand and then turns to me, that crinkly-eyed smile on her face again. “Seems to me you both had a better experience on our show than you expected?”

Penny squeezes my arm but I can’t be distracted. This moment is far too important. I’ve got to navigate that fine line between avid interest and giving away the fact that we’ve known each other for years. 

Baz’s eyes meet mine and I give him a nod. 

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a smile. I’ve never seen him smile this much before. It’s a good look on him. 

I like it. I like it a lot.

Baz clears his throat before he speaks. “Quite a bit better, actually.” 

“Yeah, me too,” I say. I probably sound too eager but I can’t be arsed about it. 

Ebb squeezes my shoulder and turns her smile to Baz. “Alright then, boys. We’ll be in touch. Show should air within 8-10 weeks.”

“Eight to ten _weeks_?” I’m incredulous. I’ve got to wait that long? “But surely . . . surely . . .”

Baz is frowning, arms crossed over his chest. It’s a familiar look and I’m relieved it’s directed at Ebb. “So you’re saying we can’t see each other or speak to each other until it airs? That can’t possibly be right.”

She shakes her head. “I said you can communicate through us. We’ll set up a date, so we can have a bit of follow up for the end of the episode on you two. Have the viewers see if you were a match, how the date went.” Ebb smirks. “I might have to ask production to condense that time frame by the looks of you.” She takes a step back. “Time for you both to head out, while we’ve still got the area cordoned off. To keep you two our little secret for a while yet.” Ebb nods and steps back. “Say your goodbyes, boys.”

This is it then. Until whenever **_Flirty Dancing_ ** decides we can see each other again. I see Baz’s shoulders slump ever so slightly and I make my decision right then. 

I shake off Penny’s arm and cross the space between us, my hand out to Baz. He stares at it for a instant and then reaches out his own to grasp it. 

But I don’t shake. I pull hard enough that it throws him off balance and I take the opportunity to wrap my other arm around his waist to steady him. 

I’m up onto my tiptoes and then I’m kissing him, my lips crashing into his, trying to communicate everything I’m thinking into the slide of our mouths against each other. 

Baz’s arms circle around me, as secure and steady as they were when we were dancing. I can hear Penny’s snort and Dev’s muffled _“bloody hell.”_

It’s background noise. All that matters is this moment. 

  
  
  


**Baz**

I was thinking about kissing him. I was thinking about taking those three steps to him and pulling him into my arms. 

And then _he kisses me_. Simon Snow is snogging me in the dimly lit car park of the British Museum, in front of a small crowd of people, and fucking hell if this isn’t a damn good kiss. 

He’s warm in my arms, shirt still clinging to his skin, the antiseptic soap smell of him overpowered by the tangy scent of his exertions. I breathe it in, breathe in the familiarity of it and am intoxicated by Simon Snow all over again. I feel as if I’m fifteen years old and all my fantasies are coming to life. My hand travels up his back, feather-light along his neck, up to where I can run my fingers into that tangle of bronze curls.

I lose myself in the moment.

Until I hear throat-clearing and I reluctantly pull my lips away from Snow’s. Ebb’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. “I think I said _‘say goodbye to each other’_ not ‘ _snog each other senseless’_ , you absolute numpties.” She nods at a man standing at her side, who looks remarkably like her. “Nico, tell production to rush this one. These two won’t last.” She shakes her head and makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Off with you now. Behave, the both of you.” 

Then she and her entourage head back to the trailers dotting the car park, leaving us with two burly security guards who look exceedingly bored with the proceedings. 

I trail my hand down Snow’s arm, lacing my fingers with his and squeezing once before I step back, slowly sliding my hand out of his. He’s flushed and bright eyed and fucking gorgeous. 

I keep my eyes on him. “Dev.” 

“Yeah, mate?” Dev’s at my side. 

“Get Bunce’s number. Now.”

“What?” Christ, he can be so thick sometimes. 

“I’ve got it, Baz,” Niall interrupts. I dart my eyes at him but he’s already moving purposefully towards Bunce, his mobile out. Good man. 

“You’ll call then?” Snow asks, tightening his grip so I can’t step away. 

“I’ll call.”  
  
“Even if it’s against the rules?”

I raise my eyebrow at him and smirk. “No one tells a Pitch what to do.”

“Posh tosser.”

“Absolute nightmare.”

“I’ve missed you, Baz.”

“I’ve missed you, Simon.

He grins. “You did it again!” 

“Did what?”

“Called me Simon.”  
  
“I did no such thing,” I say, but I’m grinning like an idiot. It’s dark and the moon is just a sliver but Snow’s smile is as bright as the midday sun. 

“But you will call?”

“I’ll be haunting Bunce’s mobile, Snow. Trust me.”

His smile gets even brighter and a rush of warmth runs through me. 

“Are you going two going to be at it all night? Nigel and I need to get things all locked up.” The guards have obviously had enough of us. 

Bunce grabs Snow’s arm and pulls him toward where the guard is holding the gate open. Dev, Niall and I follow them out. 

Snow turns to me one last time. “G’night, Baz.”

“Goodnight, Snow.”

He raises his hand and waves, walking backward for a few paces before turning away. I can hear Bunce start her interrogation before they’re out of earshot. “What the bloody hell was _that_ , Simon?”

I don’t hear his answer as I fall into step with Dev and Niall, both unusually silent. 

“Well, I never thought I’d admit to you having a good idea, Dev, but I can’t say that this was a complete disaster.” I give him a sidelong look. 

He exchanges a glance with Niall and then nods. “Good. Good.” 

He can’t hold off though, being Dev and being the wanker that he is. 

“What the bloody hell was _that_ , Baz?”

“That, my dear imbecile, was perhaps the best first date of my life. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the song is "Any Way the Wind Blows" by Home Free. It's as annoying to me as it is to Baz. But there was no way I could resist once I saw the title of the song and once I realized just how much it would irritate Baz and entertain Simon. 
> 
> My deepest thanks to @penpanoply and mr. penpanoply for their assistance with the dance moves and dance pacing and the video demo. All my thanks to @penpanoply and @drvivc for their beta reading and laugh emojis sprinkled in their comments.


End file.
